How You See the World
by The Leaf 180
Summary: It comes to him in fragments of reality that sewn together, formed a skewed yet somehow cohesive whole. "Look all around yourself and tell me now, do you call this control?" Ivan takes a step and the ice shatters, ending his world in water.


Icy fingers clawing at his sides, cloying tendrils snaking around him, trapping him, winding, up and up and up… Caught in a firm grasp, choking him, suffocating… the night turns deeper the longer he stared.

Stars are far away, dwindling and fading like all hopes for an escape. Serenity and calm becomes a fondly remembered thought, like sunshine or pain-free life. He steps onto the ice and listens. There is nothing. He sighs and takes another step, dark eyes narrowed against the biting wind.

The ice groans under his weight, shuddering and whining with each step he took. Ivan watches it with sick fascination, imagines it rushing up to greet him, tugging him down, fisting in his hairs and everywhere….

Until he was coldcoldcold and there was nothing left of anything anymore. Cold until his movements are thick and sluggish and the water wraps him a frigid embrace, stealing away everything, take it all, he is nothing now. Nothing but an old shell filled with bitter memories and sour regrets.

He can see the rushing black water tumbling underneath the thin veil of ice as a thin comma of a crack collapses under his weight. The ice was thinning; soon there would be nothing but mind numbing cold and a way to end it all at the bottom of the lake… Who would find him? Would they find him at all?

"H-hey!" A tentative voice probes at the ends of his thoughts. He snaps back to attention and struggles to locate the source of the voice in the rolling fog.

A form enters his field of view. The boy's edges are frayed, billowing off him as if he was trapped between two plates of existence – or maybe it is just a trick of the fog. He cannot tell, so he chooses to ignore it. The figure takes this as a good sign and continues, though his words are lost in the haze.

"You'll have to be louder than that." Ivan calls out to the newest arrival to the scene.

"Russia? Is that you?" The voice shouts, and Ivan realizes that they are both at a loss, separated between the almost palpable fog, alongside the seemingly tangible dread that poisoned the ambiance.

He decides to humor the boy, why not when the line between life and death was smothered and eclipsed?

"Yes it is." He calls out in monotone, taking another step just to feel the snapping of ice underfoot, similar to the macabre melody of each tendon poppiing as it twists asunder...

"W-what are you doing!" The voice sounds tight with concern, panicked, obviously hearing the sound of crumbling ice. "That's dangerous!"

Ivan is faintly reminded of a mother scolding a child as he put his weight on one foot and the ice retorts with a wail as it is carved down the center. The boy at the shoreline lets out a squeak and Ivan can tell that time is running out.

"You should get away from here," He warns the boy. "You might catch a cold."

The stranger huffs indignantly, crossing his arms. Something squirms in his arms and Ivan can see the duo converse, though he is at a loss as to what the boy is holding, the being blending in with the starkly white backdrop.

"What are you doing?" The voice persists, staggering under the strain of shouting back and forth.

Ivan ignores it, hell bent on his task and knowing that the words of a stranger would do nothing to change what was to come. He would die today. He knew this. He decision would stand. Nothing would change it.

"And who do I have the pleasure of conversing with today?" He grounds out politely as humanely possible for someone as brutish and bloodied as Russia.

"C-Canada, But-"

"And tell me Canada," Ivan hums, giving into the impending delirium "It would be ironic indeed, if I were to invent something that would foolishly destroy every essence, every part of me…"

Ivan leaves his thought at that, unspoken words hanging in the air, never to be found. There is silence, and Ivan can tell that Canada is lost as to what he is referring to. Russia sighs dejectedly.

"W-well…" Canada trails off, staring uncertainty into the distance.

He laughs, and it is a hardy, sarcastic laugh. Cynical and dark and sends chills down his spine as his deep voice spills out into the storm. He knows he is not making sense. He murmurs his distant amethyst eyes half lidded. The wind picks up and carries his words to the intimidated Canadian by the shore.

"Has it come to this so soon? Do I really need to resort to such drastic measures to sate this unsatisfied lingering within my chest?"

A jagged hole is clawed out with blunt nails, figuratively of course, but the ache still stays.

"Look all around yourself and tell me now, do you call this control?"

And with that, he takes a step and the ice shatters underneath him, sucking him down, crawling in his skin and ending his world in water.


End file.
